We Will Never Die
by Scott Phoenix
Summary: An epic adventure set around the original Umbrella Strike Squad and their yet untold journey through Raccoon City that will test their loyalty to it's limits. Second chapter uploaded.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I do not own, nor claim to own Resident Evil. Most of the characters in this story are 'original', though not all of my own creation - They belong to a truly brilliant group of people from whom permission has been sought and granted for their use. For this, the writer is thankful.

**We Will Never Die**  
(_Umbrella White Division_)

"_Fuck! Mother fucking--!"_

It had been going on for a few minutes: Profanity accompanied by general rummaging and the occasional grunt. It was not the sort of language Mrs. Lewis appreciated at the best of times. She was pressed to the door, straining her ears to hear what was going on in the hallway. Mr. Lewis had disappeared back into the living room in the hopes of acquiring a weapon with which to arm himself after Mrs. Lewis insisted he investigate.

"They'll kill us in our sleep!" She had squealed. "Murder us in our beds!"

After quiet agreement from Mr. Lewis who muttered something about Communists, she had also added "Make sure it's blunt!" as an afterthought –The law was so specific these days.

The commotion stopped abruptly, or at least subsided to a volume inaudible through two inches of solid oak.

Mr. Lewis joined his wife at the door, a fire poker quivering in the air between them, held by a hand that could have registered on the Richter Scale. He had contemplated a quick whiskey to steady his nerve but the thought of Mrs. Lewis catching him at it had not been an easy one to dismiss.

As bad as his hearing was, the man was quite certain "they" were gone. He sighed inwardly, allowing the poker to drop to a less threatening angle.

"_They're still out there." _Mrs. Lewis mouthed insistently, reading the relief on his face and having none of it.

Faced with his duty as a loyal husband – Ie: Not arguing – Mr. Lewis raised the poker once more in a very theatrical movement that shifted attention from his other trembling hand wonderfully as it reached for the door knob.

There was only one way to do this: Quickly.

He yanked the door open, flinging it aside with the careless abandon of a Viking warrior!

He stepped through, raising the poker high above his head!

With a war cry that would've made Aries himself glow with pride, he brought the steel poker down on--

"Oh. Hello Mr. Spade."

Mr. Lewis was stood frozen in mid-attack, poker in the air, facing a rather shaken-looking Mr. Spade, who lived next door.

Silence lingered for a few long moments. Mr. Lewis' brain, faced with the unfamiliar territory of never having attacked a neighbour before, instructed his eyes to dart around wildly in search of social escape.

Mr. Spade's terrified eyes hadn't yet left the poker.

"Muriel, it's just Mr. Spade." Mr. Lewis called back into the apartment, lowering his makeshift weapon.

Mrs. Lewis stepped out from the apartment doorway and stood immediately behind Mr. Lewis. Sheepish would have been an understatement.

"We, uh, heard noises…" Began Mr. Lewis, venturing out into the land of uncomfortable silence, where he felt suddenly alone. He gestured with the poker by way of explanation.

Mr. Spade's face seemed reluctant to contort out of it's petrified expression. He was clutching a rather large aluminium briefcase to his suited chest. Strewn across the floor around him seemed to be the contents of it. Papers, mostly. And a ring of keys that was visible in the column of light that emanated from the Lewis' doorway.

Without taking his eyes from Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, Mr. Spade snatched up his keys and began to open his door.

"You're looking well," Observed Mrs. Lewis from somewhere behind her husband, who was not confident the current behaviour of Mr. Spade ranked anywhere near the realms of "well".

The door creaked open and Mr. Spade disappeared into his apartment, closing it behind him. Left in the hallway were a dozen or so sheets of typed documents.

"I do hope he cleans up before the morning." Said Mrs. Lewis, shuffling back towards her apartment.

Mr. Lewis took a last look around the dim hallway before following. He had met Mr. Spade before and never had he acted so..."Inappropriately", as Mrs. Lewis would put it. There was the undeniable fact that during their previous encounters, neither party had threatened the other with utensils, but still. He couldn't shake the feeling.

Closing the door behind him, he headed off to join his wife in a more reflective mood. Downtown Raccoon City was not, perhaps, the best environment for a couple who had more years between them than the Rolling Stones.

* * *

Seth Spade staggered into his dim apartment, knocking over several items of the decorative variety. During his journey across the room, he acquired several bruises on his shins as well as the view that turning on a light may have been a good idea. He retraced his steps making a few familiar bumps, felt along the wall and found the switch.

_Click_.

There was light.

It was only now, when he stopped to breathe, that Seth registered a certain jackhammer-esk sensation within his chest. The encounter with the Lewis' had not been conducive to the day he had been having.

"Damned morons!" He hissed between deep breaths, sagging against the wall. "And it's Doctor! _Doctor_ Spade!" He added to the world in general.

Still he cradled the aluminium briefcase tightly to his torso – To say he had been through a lot since acquiring it would be grossly inaccurate: He had been shot at, stabbed, punched, beaten, run over, chased, and finally, attacked with a poker! All for the silver case he was holding.

_But I've still got it, haven't I?_

His lips moulded into a wry smirk that could've told of his victory on it's own. Yes, he still had it. They had tried to take it away again and again – And they had failed again and again.

Now he was home-free.

_Just need to get some stuff together and I'll fly out. Tonight. Get out of the country. Out of _their_ reach._

He span around from the wall and, in the tungsten glow, found more waiting for him than his collection of Swedish designer furniture. A man was sat back in his cream Lindstrom armchair on the other side of the room.

He was dressed casually: Jeans, t-shirt and jacket. He even had dark shades on that concealed his eyes. From where Seth was standing, it also looked as though the man's hair was not naturally blonde – He could see dark roots towards the centre of the guy's scalp. Blondie.

After taking in all the information, Seth found it a bit of a shock when the fact the man was holding a large handgun only registered subsequently to an analysis of the guy's clinical habits. He froze at the sight of it.

Any hopes that Seth harboured towards the motionless Blondie having fell asleep at his post were smashed when the pistol jerked towards him.

"Wait--"

But Blondie didn't wait.

* * *

"Arrrrhhhh! Arrrrrrhhhhhh! Arrrrhhhhhhh!"

It wasn't so much a scream as a howl, fragmented where Doctor Spade deemed it necessary to take a breath.

Nick Delburton rose from where he had been seated, cocking back the hammer of his FN Five-SeveN in preparation for the final, inevitable shot.

The first two had been well-placed leg-shots that put the Doctor straight down. Unfortunately, while one round found its mark, shattering Spade's left femur – The other had only caught meat before continuing on through the front door. The Five-SeveN was a formidable weapon in this respect: It was just too damn easy to forget the power.

No matter. Nick planned on being out of there right away anyway. _Nothing has changed. Stick to the plan._

"Is that it?" Nick asked the shrieking Doctor.

Spade was oblivious. His mind had quite rightly decided that a broken bone demanded immediate attention and put all other queries on hold. That was until Spade's eyes brought to his mind's attention that they were, in fact, staring down the length of a very familiar shape – A barrel.

Nick hoisted Spade up by the throat while his other hand kept the pistol steadily levelled at the bridge of his nose.

"Is that it?" He repeated, jerking his head toward the general direction of the metallic case that Spade had dropped post-gunshot.

"What are you…" Spade began his spiel of lies. Now, however, his mind was catching up to events. It wasn't the gun. Over the last few days, Spade had stared down more barrels than Sylvester Stallone. No. With Nick so close to Spade, the reflective effect of the shades was void. Spade could see his eyes.

It had thrown him. The guy's face, his manner, even his voice – All cool as ice. But the eyes. They were eyes a Vet would have recognised. They called it the thousand-yard-stare.

Something in them _dared_ Spade to lie.

It was a battle of will.

"Here…" Spade lost. Taking extra care with his movements, he removed a cylindrical vial from the depths of his jacket. It glowed an alluring shade of purple.

Nick snatched it from Spade's reluctant hand and pocketed it. He was aware of tears forming in the Doctor's eyes. Enough time had been squandered.

"Thank you, Doctor. Now, there's just one more issue my employer would like to resolve."

Nick stepped back (as he'd been warned about putting dry cleaning on his expenses list previously), raised his pistol and--

"No! There's something else!"

Nick hesitated. It wasn't often that cries of "No!" met anything but the sound of gunfire, but Spade had talked fast. _Something else? _He lowered the gun.

Spade took the cue. With a permissible nod from his would-be executer, he produced, from the aluminium case, a video tape.

Nick sighed.

"Not a movie fan." He said evenly, raising the gun once more.

"Watch it!" Spade squealed, tossing the tape at Nick's feet.

The options ran through his head. Every eventuality in a split second. Such was the gift of a seasoned soldier. In the end, it all boiled down to _why not_? Well, that and a healthy dose of curiosity. What was so important that the Doctor believed he could prolong his life? He could be lying, of course, but given his record, he seemed like a smart man.

Decision made, Nick picked up the tape and inserted into the Doctor's set-top VCR that was sat quite prettily in the corner, next to the Malmo Coffee Table. He never took his eyes off Spade.

"Never" was a bit strong, perhaps. When the tape started, he couldn't help it. His eyes were _drawn_ to it.

He watched. He listened. He…

_Oh my God._

Beneath the cool exterior the shades afforded, Nick's eyes widened with horror.

"You see!" Wheezed the Doctor. "You see!"


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**New York – 25 September 1998**

It had happened.

What analysts from the Umbrella Corporation had theoretically deemed the "Worst Case Scenario" – A citywide Outbreak. There was a file exploring its probability in the desk drawer of every major Umbrella executive based in North America. Most copies had gone unread. Until now.

Suited business men in all fifty States were now nervously scanning through their copy of it, making demands of each other over the phone.

"_Why wasn't I notified about this!"_

"_Who's responsible!"_

"_No one said this would happen!"_

But one man did. He was the author of the paper smugly entitled "The Inevitability Factor". His name was Doctor Neil Gregory. He was currently in a meeting.

Mister Li slowly turned a page of his own copy of The Inevitability Factor. He was sat behind his desk – Opposite, was a silent Doctor Gregory.

Making visitors wait was a routine reserved only for those _special_ guests – The ones Mister Li didn't necessarily wish to feel comfortable. Honesty was so much easier to extract from someone filled with uncertainty, after all.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem to have the desired effect upon Doctor Gregory, who had played host to Li's parlour games many a time before. He merely resorted to counting ceiling tiles to pass the time, picking up from his last visit.

With a resounding sigh, Mister Li closed the paper and laid it on the desk between them.

"Why did you write…_this_?" He asked bitterly, gesturing vaguely to the document in front of him.

"You told me to, Mister Li." Replied Doctor Gregory, tearing his interest away from the tiles.

_That's true_, agreed Li's inner-executive, much to his annoyance. _But at the time, you didn't know it would actually happen. _It offered, in hopes of a compromise.

"I _asked_ you to surmise the probability of an outbreak--"

"--Which is exactly what I did."

Li _glared_. There was no other word for it. Even italic definition did it little justice. He _loathed_ interruption. Well, when he wasn't doing it, anyway.

"'Inevitable'?" Li spat out the word as though it tasted rotten.

"Yes, Mister Li. As I told Mister Rodgers earlier, the very idea that such material could be--"

"You've talked to Mister Rodgers?" Li gasped.

"Yes, Mister Li. He phoned me earlier regarding my report. He had some questions which…"

Li tuned out while Doctor Gregory recited the issues that Mister Rodgers had shown interest in. This was bad. If Mister Rodgers knew…

_That damn report. That damn scientist! _

Sat in every Umbrella building in the country right this moment, was a document that depicted—No: _bragged_ the impossibility of continual containment of a substance known as the _T-Virus_, right down to mathematical detail. And now that the news of the outbreak had reached the large ears of the Corporation, there would be _questions_. Questions directed at Mister Li – Doctor Neil Gregory's immediate superior.

Umbrella asked questions like no other Corporation in the world. Li needed a bargaining chip…

He realised Doctor Gregory was still waffling on.

"That's quite enough," He said, holding up a hand that requested silence. "Thank you for your time, Doctor, but I realise you're a busy man, so I'll let you get back to work."

The good Doctor sat opened mouthed for several seconds before survival instinct took hold. He tramped out of the private office in sullen silence.

It was several seconds after the door was closed that Mister Li picked up his conference telephone and tapped a number that was also reserved just for those _special_ guests.

A voice answered.

"Doctor Gregory is on his way out, now – See that he leaves…_Safely_." Instructed Li.

"_Understood." _Replied the voice.

That was one matter taken care of, but more lay ahead. Li would have to place a lot more calls before the day was out. But that was okay – He was owed a lot of favours.


	3. Chapter 2

**Raccoon City – 26 September 1998. 0:01**

_Huff, huff, huff, huff…Almost…There…_

Jamie Orth was so close to salvation he could taste it.

It was barely ten minutes ago he was ready to take another way out. He shuddered at the thought of it: The cold, steel barrel pressed against his temple. He would've done it, too.

_Damned morons!_

Those morons – The other survivors – didn't let him do it. Said he wasn't worth a bullet, said they'd need every last one to get out of the city alive. They wrestled the gun out of his hands, threw him to the floor and left him. Alone. Unarmed. In a city full of _zombies_.

And called him a coward.

_But I got the last laugh! Haha!_

After they'd gone, leaving him in the gutter howling like a spoiled child, it happened. He had seen it. A _rescue helicopter_.

It swooped low overhead, singing to him through a tornado of dirt it left in its wake. A block over, it descended. Landed. And was now out of view. Orth could still hear the _thump-thump_ of the helicopter's rotors – It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

He was almost there.

"_Are you alone?"_ The rescuers would ask when he got there.

"_Yes."_ Orth would lie. He wouldn't tell them about the group he had almost led to death, nor of the pregnant woman he had locked in an apartment block toilet because she was slowing them down. Why should he? They humiliated him, made fun and they didn't listen! If they'd listened, he could've saved them all!

_Fuck 'em._

He was _there_. He had made it.

He burst into the park with time enough to see the helicopter take off.

"Hey!" He screeched, waving frantically. "Over here!"

But the big ol' rescue bird didn't listen – She passed right over him, still singing her sweet song.

_Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump._

_What the fuck?_

Orth's heart sank as he watched it go. He began to cry again, crumpling to his knees as--

_BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!_

He turned back towards the landing site and what met his eyes made his heart soar: Nine clad soldiers, visibly armed with rifles, were stood in formation, dispatching a few unfortunate zombies that dared too near. A rescue party!

"Hey!" Yelled Orth. "Hey! I'm alive! I'm alive!"

At the time his words were spoken, they were accurate. Several assault rifle bursts, however, forced immediate change in the circumstances.

Jamie Orth was dead before he hit the ground.

* * *

"Alright, who did that?" It was the voice of Commander Shiro Xavier, leader of the Umbrella Strike Squad, though somewhat muffled through the gasmask he wore.

Gunfire ceased. His words were met with innocent silence from the unit. Someone coughed.

"He seemed very threatening at the time, sir." Owned up the also-muffled voice of Staff Sergeant Jack Raven. He had been the shooter.

There were sniggers from the unit. Shiro himself smirked.

"Fair enough," Said Shiro dismissively. "Okay, gentlemen, we all know what we're doing, so let's get to it. Red Team, on me."

Four individuals detached themselves from the group. Three of them were tall, broad individuals who conveyed a very quiet air of professionalism with their every gesture – The fourth was smaller, narrower and generally clumsier. From the way the man's rifle sagged in his arms, one would deduce he had never held a weapon. This was Jake Banin.

"Come along, Mister Banin." Prompted Shiro, failing to mask the amusement in his voice.

Jake Banin didn't have a rank – He was a thirty-four year-old Umbrella analyst who was unlucky enough to have been attached to Shiro's unit as an inspector when it was called up for duty. Commander Xavier tried unsuccessfully to ditch him, but finally lost to Banin's argument that he could conduct research for his report while in the field when the decision was made from higher up.

Shiro hated politics.

But he made the most of it, and insisted that Mister Banin be battle ready if were to accompany the unit, as an idle soldier is a dead soldier.

The entire unit knew the guy didn't have a chance – They also knew that was exactly what Shiro was counting on. And they were behind him one-hundred-percent.

With his legs cramping under the weight of everything he was carrying, Banin pathetically attempted to step up the pace, trailing behind the three _real_ soldiers with a somewhat uneven stride.

Up ahead Shiro, MP5 sub-machine-gun in one hand and Global "Tracking" Satellite (GTS) in the other, lead the way towards Red Team's first objective.

The Umbrella Strike Squad, or U.S.S., had actually been inserted with two priority objectives: The first was what the U.S.S. commonly referred to as an 'Assassination Run'. A process whereby the unit was instructed to facilitate the untimely deaths of several men and women – Deaths that would prove extremely beneficial to the Corporation. This sort of mission was nothing surprising – Hell, most of the U.S.S. accepted that they were merely glorified killers. What mattered was how well Umbrella paid. Compared to other establishments – The US Government for example – they were earning top dollar.

The other objective was less common.

Shiro's Sub-Commander, Xander Darovich, had been charged with the responsibility of securing the second objective – Quite literally. U.S.S' second priority was laying their hands on a sample of the _G-Virus_.

All in the U.S.S. had encountered the _T-Virus_ and it's devastation at some point or another. Cleaning up facility spills was a regular job – An easy one, too, comparatively. They would be the first to admit that dealing with the already-dead was disturbing to begin with, but once you got over the shock factor it was quite a walk in the park. Until today, no one had heard of the _G-Virus_.

This second objective was a late-comer – It had been radioed in while the unit was in transit towards the city. The only information they were given was that an informant in the underground laboratories had contacted H.Q. offering a sample in exchange for safe passage out of the city. H.Q. accepted.

Shiro split the team up in mid-flight and laid out the plans: He would take half the unit himself for the 'Assassination Run' while Xander took the other half to the underground labs and procured the sample. Both teams would then rendezvous upon completion and exfil together.

When the Commander relayed this change of plan back to H.Q., they objected – They wanted Shiro after the _G-Virus_. He could only assume his reputation for getting things done had been tossed around a boardroom somewhere. But it was tough shit – He had his own reasons for wanting the Assassination Run to himself.

Anyway, the opinions of executives didn't matter two-shits when they were stood right in front of you, never mind hundreds of miles away.

"_No,"_ He had said. _"Going forward as previously stated. Xavier out."_

Now trekking through the most dangerous city in the entire world, Shiro's mind was focused on completion of the task. He was, after all, a professional.

* * *

Not far from where they had landed, members of Blue Team were having a far more eventful time.

"YOU'LL NEVAH TAKE ME ALIVE, MOTHA FUCKAS!"

_BAKA-BAKA-BAKA-BAKA-BAKA-BAKA-BAKA_

The team had come up upon the Raccoon Police Department – A deceiving building that harboured the quickest route to the underground laboratories – Only to find its main doors feebly guarded by a crazed cop with an itchy trigger finger and an M60.

Everyone had hit the dirt when the first shot scorched the air. Staff Sergeant Owen _"The Baron_" Kennedy was sat with his back against a conveniently placed police squad car that had seen better days. He couldn't see anyone else.

"_Xan here. Blue Team, sit-rep." _The voice of Sub-Commander Xander Darovich burst over the radio network.

"Owen here." Replied Kennedy, his Southern drawl steady as a rock. "Pinned down, can't get a shot."

"_Logan here."_ Came the voice of Master Sergeant Logan _"Apollo"_ Alexander. _"I'm with Lex – She's been hit. Repeat, Lex has been hit."_

_Goddamn newbie_ Kennedy thought vindictively. He hated them – They always fucked up somehow. He couldn't help hoping it was a headshot.

Lex Starfire was indeed a newcomer to the unit. Like everybody else, she was a UBCS veteran who had been scouted for Special Operations. Unlike everybody else, she was female: The first in U.S.S.

The heavy-machine-gun was still firing infrequently. The guy wasn't totally stupid – He was firing bursts here and there to keep everyone's head down, still shouting to whoever would listen. If the thing was belt-fed, it could go on all day--

Silence. It stopped.

Kennedy peered over the squad car's bonnet. The body of the demented cop slipped from Xander Darovich's bloodied knife. It was rather more lifeless than it had been moments ago.

_"Area secured."_ Xander instructed._ "Move up."_

"Veterans," Kennedy grinned. "Gotta love 'em."

* * *

Far beneath Raccoon City, a single gunshot echoed through one of the most technologically advanced laboratories in the world. It was the sound of Doctor Ivan Aleksandrev Kerensky pulling the plug on one of his latest experiments.

He had been stuck in the subterranean levels for almost a full day and had defaulted to his natural self: Ivan the Curious.

When the labs had been secured, he had found escape impossible – Only the right cardkey on the _outside_ reader would shift the seal. Locked in with no company but the reanimated remains of his former co-workers, he improvised ways to keep himself busy.

Currently, he had just completed observing the effects of small-arms trauma on the infected mobility. Everything he did he recorded, in some fashion or another – Mostly in his work diary that was clearly set out to receive such results.

Now, the experiment was…_Aha_…terminated.

Ivan checked his watch. Twenty-five to one and still no sign of his escort. The urge to sigh was kerbed only by a far more appealing thought: Time for another experiment.

From the work table opposite the restrained, now dead, zombie, he collected his equipment – Which consisted of a personal-defence tazer and not much else – and headed out to the corridors, in search of another colleague.


End file.
